"Hawkeye, Padre?" asked Potter after the room was steeped in a moment of confused silence. Henry shifted his stance uncomfortably in Mulcahy's presence. Mulcahy couldn't bring himself to look at him. He stepped forward.

"Yes, Colonel. Hawkeye. That--" he pointed to Henry, "That-- thing over there tried to kill him!"

B.J. slowly slid out of his seat, concerned about the priest. He spoke slowly. "Father? Henry helped us /save/ Hawkeye." He reminded him slowly, non-threateningly, as one speaking to a confused child. "Remember?"

Mulcahy stamped his foot in frustration. "That's not Colonel Blake! Can't you see that?" Looking around, he saw that Blake himself was the only one who understood. Raising his voice in both pitch and volume, "It's some creature, some fiendish-- thing! Colonel Blake is dead!"

Klinger whistled. "Hoo boy. Okay, Father, you can get in line ahead of me for that Section 8."

Mulcahy looked into Klinger's skeptical eyes. "You don't believe me! Check!"

Turning to Potter, "Just check!" he pointed at Henry emphatically. "Why do you think he won't let you examine him? You'll find out that he's dead! Just check! You're a doctor. Just try and find me proof that he's alive."

Potter's face turned quite serious. "Calm down, Padre, sure, we'll check. Everything'll be just fine." He stood and looked toward Henry, "Here, let's just humor the poor man," he uttered lowly, "I'll have Radar call in Dr. Freedman later on."

Henry couldn't speak. What excuse could he possibly make? He hardly heard the words that Potter was speaking to him. His eyes shifted from Potter's approaching form to the discerning eyes of the chaplain, and under that harshest of gazes he began to obediently offer his wrist for examination.

'Come on, old buddy,' he inwardly told his cold and dormant heart, 'just a little beating, for old times' sake. Come on... you can do it,' he pleaded in terror. He set his jaw as the Colonel's fingers approached.

To the rest of the room, Henry seemed to blush a bit at the necessity of the examination. Potter indeed felt the pulse that he had expected.

"He seems to be alive, Father," he spoke quietly, glancing from the blushing Henry to the frantic priest, whose eyes grew wide at the news.

"What?" he exclaimed, rushing forward. "Give me that!"

Henry shuddered, feeling the inward drain of that precious fluid as he forced his body to 'look alive,' as it were. But he stabilized himself on the edge of Potter's desk and held out the arm willingly, almost proudly, to Mulcahy. "See, Father?" he spoke emphatically. "I'm fine." He let his face melt into a warm, affable smile, and he put every inch of himself into being charming and convincing, into being affable around the suddenly creepy Mulcahy, and the same lovable old Henry Blake to the rest of the team.

Mulcahy felt the pulse and dropped Henry's proferred wrist as if it burned him.

"Deception!" he called out, "Unholy deception! Henry!" he reached for Blake's gaze with his own, making contact and leaning forward. Lowering his tone into a dark, deep voice of admonition, he continued, "Henry, stop this. Stop this-- this-- this masquerade!"

~